


Detachment

by SE_Soignee (Soignee)



Series: Disconnect Universe [5]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Drabbles, F/F, Gen, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-27 05:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12574492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soignee/pseuds/SE_Soignee
Summary: Small little stories, prompts, and drabbles for the Disconnect universe, featuring DI Krios.





	1. Blood Means Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lesson

“Something over 305 billion humans have existed in the universe,” she said, arms wrapped around herself. “We originated from one single African origin, too. It doesn’t matter where you think you come from, or how you’re made- we all started from the same place.”

I was curious at the intent. The words felt academic, but from the recital they meant something to her. “Kalahira’s Heart,” I replied.  “The land where all drell are meant to be from.”

“Mythical, or an actual landmass?” Her gaze lingered so sharply I looked away.

“Why not both?” Her eyes were rather blue, I thought. Never noticed how much before; the light of the Widow’s star made them brighter, somehow.


	2. Wind or Windbag- The Reader Decides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wind

A beach resort was an awful idea.

Oriana had wrapped herself in linens like a corpse, and scowled at the sun from her lounger. “It was your idea for a holiday,” I said, cleaning my nails of sand. Why do people just sit around? What does it accomplish?

“Oh, hush. It’s midday, it’ll get better. And we can move to the shade soon.”

“You can.” I stared at my empty glass. “I’ve run out of drink tokens. This is insufferable, a mojito is fifty credits, Ori. That’s extortion.”

“That’s what you get for day drinking.” She pulled out a folded linen from her bag, and with a snap of her wrist it became a hat. It looked ridiculous jammed on her head.

“Interesting.”

“I don’t take fashion advice from you,” she sniffed. “Besides, this is practical. There’s only so much the UV inoculations can do.”

“That’s the reason? _Ah._ ”

Oriana scowled at my grin; it really did look silly. “I don’t want anymore sunspots.”

“If I knew what they were I’d agree, I’m sure.”

“These,”  she said, pointing at cheek, though I had no idea what she meant. “The freckles, Kol.”

“But I like them.” I made a point of touching one, the largest on her arm. “They’re your patterns.”

Oriana looked half torn between exasperation and amusement; I settled the issue with a kiss on the offending mark. As soon as the thought blossomed into something more, the wind took her hat.

 


	3. Bals des victimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bunting  
> (I also apologise for the amount of Bad French Oriana uses in this.)

_Human Culture Day_ seemed a vague enough concept to enjoy. I had the next twelve hours off work, and though I preferred to spend my off days decompressing in peace, I was invited.

Kithoi Ward was half an hour away, but I was beginning to regret my choice just by the sheer amount of people that were around me. “You can come and wave,” Oriana had told me. “I only have a small part. I’m on the Euro World float, which is odd as I’m a colony mutt. Anyway, let me know before you get here. I can get you in as my plus one.”

The crowds and the noise were too much. The pass Ori signed me up for at least put me in the backstage area, though a different kind of chaos awaited me. A group of human girls wearing nothing but feathers went by, and I wondered - _hoped,_ really- if Ori would be in something similar.

Several drummers were practising in a group, dominating the space. There were always at these things, no matter the species or the festival; everyone in the universe understood the appeal of hitting something.

As I folded my arms to watch them from the shadows of a tent, I heard my name called across the space. “You came!”

She was dressed in a pink dress almost as wide as she was tall, topped with a hairy white hat. Her outfit was so large she had to scuttle sideways to reach me, bumping into other strangely dressed oddities.

Alas, no feathers or thongs. “That’s an ...interesting choice of clothing,” I said. My nose twitched at the scent of it- her dress smelt of dust and storage. “Is that a boat in your hat?”

“It’s a wig, and yes. I’m Marie Antoinette, they’re going to behead me halfway through the procession. You can eat cake- or churros, which are close enough. And also delicious, by the way.”

“I know what churros are,” I replied.  “Have I come all this way to watch you die?” I could not resist touching the white of her powdered cheek; it stained my glove in a streak.

“Don’t you smear my beauty spot,” she said. I was poked in the chest for the indiscretion. “How else I’m meant to hide the syphilis? Took me ages to find the right kind of moleskin.”

“Ah?” She was the polyglot again. I was half-convinced she spoke deliberate nonsense on purpose, if only to tease me.

“Never mind. The parade starts soon, but when my _mauvais quart d’heure_ is over, do you want to go somewhere? We can get something to eat from the stalls, maybe.”

I took one look at her outfit. “It’s your funeral. You may choose the meal.”  

“Awesome,” she said. “I got to go, _mise en scène_ soon, I can meet you after. Goodbye, my cabbage.”

My translator gave up again. Why was I a cabbage? “If you say so.”


	4. Bonding Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stalked

A terminally ill man had handed me my ass again. 

“You’re getting better,” he said, dusting some imagery spec of something from sleeve. “But still, this form must be mastered before you can move on. Remember to hold your stance. Breath out with each stroke. As constant as the tide, Kolyat. Up.”

The mat I collapsed on stunk of old rubber and alien sweat.  _Delightful._  “Why, so you can beat me a third time?” 

“The lesson is not to win, but to learn. Up, Kolyat.”

I was not my father. I did not hide in the shadows to stalk my prey. I have not crawled through vents, nor have I killed with my bare hands. How do you even snap a neck, anyway?

He told me once of a story of two brothers-in-arms, the fabled  _tuniefa_  hunters of Amonkira. They were two sides of a coin, light and dark, day and night.  My father was Tumar; the shadows were his allies, the moon his lover. His weapons were the bow and the dagger, and their power grew only in subterfuge and secrecy.

I was Abar, he said. I would never hide in plain sight, with my golden spear and shield raised to defend the weak. I was light and justice and the morning; I saw lies formed from the lips of my enemies in puffs of oily black smoke, and could sense their corruption. 

Fitting for a C-Sec rookie, I suppose.

“I’m the sun,” I said, gasping for breath. Another bruise lanced through my chest. “Hooray. Here to distract you with my pretty shield while my dad kicks your ass.”

The edge of emphysema had clipped his breathing short again. I heard it more often than not, especially now. “That was not the point of my story.”

Though my father did not look at me directly, I knew he was in pain. It was never my doing- I couldn’t land a punch, unless he wanted me too.  “Do you want to stop?” I asked.

He was always annoyed when the sickness crept into our training; Father treated his Kepral’s like an unwelcome guest, an elderly relative that refused to leave us. “No, we continue. Up.”

“Fine, old man,” I picked up myself up and stretched. “Time for a another humiliation.”

“There are many ways to fight, and many paths for a warrior to chose from. That is the message I wanted you to hear, Kolyat; you will find yours, as I found mine.” Another breath rattled, and he nodded at me.

“Now, again.” His was the voice of the teacher, not a father. “Hands in the Grasp of Tumara. Feet wide. Come at me.”


	5. Little Boxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Secrets

I held the prayer book tight against my chest. I did not want to speak anymore.

Neither of us cried, despite the cooling body of my father between us. A deep breath, and she righted herself. “Do you need me to do anything?” she said. “For the funeral, or-”

“It’s all been taken care of,” I replied.

Shepard looked at him one last time, and neatened the blanket around his body, eyes red. She wanted to say more to me, but I avoided her gaze. Instead she put a hand to my shoulder and squeezed. “I should go." It was said so softly my translator had trouble catching it.

It was the second time I had met her. I knew what she was to him, even if he never explained. Father kept his  _siha_  and me in neat, separate boxes, always apart from the other.


	6. There's No Shepard Without Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Coffee

The smell of it reached her first. Shepard smiled, though the stroke made it hard. Garrus was not the first to see her when she woke up, but he was the most constant.

“Out of all the things in the universe, I figured this would be the one thing you wanted the most when you woke up,” he said, holding up a takeaway cup. “Creamed and sugared, don’t worry.”

He brought the coffee to her lips. Shepard tried to speak, but the tubes blocked her throat. “Time to show me your emergency induction port skills,” he said, and added a straw to her drink with a flourish.


	7. Snow Can Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Winter

I shook the gifted holocard again, watching as the flecks of plastic snow fell through the Rockies. “Did you know where the driest place on Earth is?” I asked her. I knew the answer already.

Oriana barely looked up from her omni-tool, flicking me an amused glance. “Antarctica. And no, I don’t want to go. That’s off the list.”

“My father looked into it, but we ended up in New Mexico instead. Not here,” I said, shaking the card again. “But close enough.”

Oriana leaned over the couch to watch me place the trinket back on the shelf, her head in the cradle of her arms. “What about there? The Rockies, I mean. I’m sure Bailey would let us stay in whatever shack in the woods he has to catch his salmon.”

I shuddered at the thought of abusing my CO’s hospitality. “No. Though I was thinking about the snow- I would like to see some, but I’m told the novelty wears off after awhile.”

“It does,” Oriana said. “But it’s nice to watch from the inside. Cosy and _hygge_.”

“Say that again,” I asked. It was a normal, everyday question with Oriana; she liked to wear out my language programs.

She wrapped herself up in the blanket next to her to make a point. “Hygge. A roaring fire, a hot chocolate, a good book, a comfy chair. All at once, if possible.”

“Ah. That  _ does _ sounds like an Oriana word.” I sat next to her and her feet ended up in my lap.

“I’ll hygge  _ you _ if you start,” she said.


	8. From The Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: N7 Day.

The first time I met her she hit me. The gun was smacked from hands and I was shoved into my father’s arms, bewildered he was still alive.

The second time was at his death, prayer book gripped in my fingers. I prayed for him twice that year.

The third was at his memorial service, bewildered by the alien custom of such a thing. Drell remembered their dead by existing; there was no measurement of grief, no special time and place to recount it.

Bailey stood with me, hand on arm. “You alright, son?” Shepard offered to crack skulls and move people along, yet I refused the help of a  _siha_. I touched my jaw where the ghost of a punch lingered, breathing in heavily.

Instead I used all the money  _he_  left me to help set up the Kepral’s Research Trust, and manipulated the guilt of a grateful Councillor into paying more. It was fitting, really. His wetwork money could help stop the slow creep of death that almost silenced him, a passive use of his professional violence.

The fourth- well, I’m not sure the fourth counts. Somehow they let me see her in the hospital, standing over the tubes and meat of her body as she lay in her induced coma. They had found her in the rubble barely alive, and six months on she was still asleep.

I had with me the same blue prayer book; it just about survived the explosion of the Citadel, like most of us did. In my pocket was the sharp edges of a siha, at least a pewter charm version. I carefully placed it on the table next to the bed, wondering what to say to a silenced hero.

The fifth she invited me to a party. I’m not sure why. Shepard had recovered two years after the end of the war, enough to celebrate the fact that most of her was alive.

I’d always be thankful she did. The memory fades-

“And where are you now,” said Oriana. “I know you’re somewhere.”

“I’m thinking of how we met.” I pinched her chin as she wrinked her nose at me.

“Of course you are,” she replied.


	9. Eyes Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Before The Beginning

The arms of the Wards were behind me now. If I chose to look I would see Zakera, and know that my home was in the middle of the rebuilding; a tiny box of solitude I had carved for myself. 

I set my course on auto pilot, at least until I hit the Widow’s Relay. It was taking everything I had to stay calm; I knew exactly how much it would cost to have the haptic interface panel fixed if I didn’t. Why was this my fault? Why was I-

_-did not want our last night together to be fighting. I reached out for her shoulder, and she did nothing, not even shrug it off.  “Ori, it’s not my fault; why don’t you-_

She had no right to be angry with me. I had no choice in the assignment, Bailey had made that clear- even dressed it up as doing me a favour-

_-the sooner you can come back. It’ll take you a week, tops. The report should be finished by then, and we’ll know for sure what the I.A. thinks. CSI gave me the ballistics report, turns out the gun was a Viper, older model, they think-_

My journey to Epiteia was punishment enough, even though I had done nothing wrong.

* * *

 

(Note: if you're a regular reader of Disconnect, don't worry! Two chapters soon, written 10k words that are currently being edited and looked over.)


	10. In Constant A Minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You can't take it with you."

I dreamed about Illium again.

Dad sat by his holo piano, his back to me. The lights were blue, for some reason. Dad always played in pinks and oranges, never blue. “Don’t rush off,” he said, looking over his shoulder. His face blurred, but I still remembered the shape of his eyes. “Sit here with me. Wait.”

But I didn’t want to. My dream had broken itself into pieces, as they always do. Something about trying to find a package for a neighbour I never liked, an abstract plot that made sense at the time.

I had no time to sit with him. “I’m busy,” I said. Listening to him play _Für Elise_  was a distraction, the last thing I needed. “I have to go.”

“You always do,” he replied.  He was playing Beethoven wrong, in a different key. I pressed the middle C in between his moving hands, annoyed it didn’t register right.

“Your piano is broken, Dad.”

“I know, Sunshine. Maybe I like the way it sounds.” My subconscious was always cruel to me. I don’t know why, but at the time I was angry he said it. Why would I be?

Dad’s final keystrokes faded, in sync with the beeping machines I woke up to. It took a while to realise they where connected to me, and I touched the largest tube attached to my stomach, trailing from a glittering interface above my head. “Orishen?”

Kolyat had been asleep in the chair, this time in his uniform. A broken _Für Elise_ was still in head, but hearing Kol call my name was enough to remind me of what was real. I tried to speak, but couldn’t, fingers fumbling my chapped mouth.

His scales shone even in the low lights of my private room. “How you doing?” he asked me, pulling my hands into his.

It took three attempts to reply. “Thirsty,” I said, trying to swallow. I touched my face again, frowning. Something was missing.

“The nurse took off your earrings after you went under,” he said, pulling out a bag from his jacket. I could see my name and Citadel number was printed on the side, sealed off from everything. “They’re here, don’t worry. You couldn’t take them with you into the operating room.”

My mother’s pearls, kept safe and sound by him. “Water?”

“I can do that,” He found a bottle from the bedside and opened it for me. “I’m told you can eat too, if you want.”

The water was held to my lips. “I can drink myself,” I said, annoyed at the gesture. He still held the bottom for me.

“I know. Slow sips, Ori.”

After I had my fill, I tried to still my shaking hands. "Feels like I've been hit my a skycar."

“I’ll find you some tea, I’m sure you’re allowed some,” he said. “There’s a gift shop too, if you want anything.”

“Just tea,” I said, sighing.  I felt so very naked in my hospital gown, and adjusted the neckline. “How do I look?”

Kolyat kissed my forehead. “Like you just woke up from an operation.”

If I had the energy to, I’d hit him. “You say the sweetest things.”

He pushed my hair with a gloved finger over my ear, smiling. “You’ve missed the surgeon, she came by earlier. Waved her omni-tool, said something about prescriptions, left. Told me everything went okay, just as planned. You’re to press the green button if you’re in pain.”

“I’m not. Just itchy.” The tubing in my stomach annoyed me. “It’s only routine gene therapy. When can I go home?”

He made his little thrumming sound of disagreement. With all the gentleness he could he held me in his arms, trying to keep the stiffness of his stab vest away from me. “When you’re allowed,” he said, letting me go with a nose tweak. “You also need a shower. The nurse at the station said you could have one after they remove the machines on their next round, the dressing is waterproof.”

This time I did hit him, even if it hurt me more. “ _Kolyat_.”

He left me to find me my tea. I tried moving my legs, but the pain lanced through my stomach. This was what I wanted -we wanted, a new start. “Work, please,” I told my hands. They still shook, but at least I was sitting up this time, even if everything ached.

The green light blinked at me, and I gave in and pressed it. It took five minutes for the pain to throb to nothing, and I adjusted the bed to prop me up.

 I had finished the water by myself in the time it took for him to get back to me. “Nurse will check in with you soon,” he said, setting up the tray table. He placed the tea and a wrapped plant on it without any ceremony. “Miranda is coming by. I called her as soon as you were awake.” I assumed she was somewhere. I’m not sure how she could watch anyone be cut open, but apparently she was insistent enough to assist.

“A present? How thoughtful.” The plant he gave me looked Thessian, all rounded lilac leaves, waxy to the touch. “Something for Fish to eat when we go home,” I said. “She’ll appreciate the gesture, don’t worry.”

“I like buying you gifts,” he said, chuffing. “You’re always so enthused.”

I took a mouthful of my tea as he watched, ready to swoop in and take it away if he had to. “Could you get me my headphones?”

Kolyat raised a brow. “Bored of me already?”

“I need to listen to something.”

The overnight bag was raided from the bedside and very gently he placed them on my head, making sure my hair was over my ears first. I let him fuss, he liked fussing over me- but I still adjusted them to my comfort when he sat back down, omni-tool bracelet back on my wrist.

It didn’t take long to find the right song. He held my hand while I listened to a two hundred year old version of _Für Elise_ , fighting the urge to sleep again.

“I’m still here,” I heard him say, taking the headphones off. I had dozed, somehow. “Sleep if you need to.”

The drugs were stronger than I thought. I know, I wanted to tell him, but the words were stuck in my mouth again. A constant melody in A minor, played the right way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This takes 5ish years or so after Disconnect, in the vague future.


	11. Charming, Charismatic and Sharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Three words to describe your character.

_“Diplomatic, hardworking and keen.”_

 “Hmm?” Her words pulled me out from the my thoughts, and I looked up at her frowning at her datapad.

Ori sat down on her spot of the couch beside me, knees pulled to her chest. “I do so hate PR.”

“It’s your job,” I said, amused at her reaction. Fish flicked her tail once at the interruption of her nap, lodged as she was into my side.

“I do so hate _pointless_ PR, how about that? They want to know ‘the person behind the charity,’ a waste of both of our time. I have to describe myself in three words before they consider their donation.”

The conversation had all the makings of a trap no matter what I said. I fussed with the cat’s ears until Fish rumbled a warning and flexed her claws, the tips grazing the couch in a scratch. “Just write what they want to hear,” I replied.

“How about: strong, vivacious, smart?” Ori smiled at my lack of reply. “You’re not correcting me,” she said, after I went back to watching the vid.

“Humble and modest too.” I had my eyes still on the screen, refusing to be dragged into her game.

“Oh, a perfectly  _cromulent_ response, but I’m afraid it’s only three words.” My translator blipped in response at the strange word, and I sighed as she carried on with her nonsense. “I’m charitable too, Kolyat. Practically super human,” she said.”Equanimous, adroit, sagacious.”

“Pretentious. Inane. Egregious.”

“ _Egregious?_ ” Ori leaned over to squeeze my arm. Quite a feat, considering the size of the couch. “I’m so proud. Look at you, using your words. I’m rubbing off on you, I can tell.”

“You’re not. Only assholes use them, Ori. I’m not an asshole.”

“No, just churlish, brusque, peremptory-”

“ _Orishen_.” I sighed again, and moved the annoyed cat to the other side of my couch so I could pull her into my arms. “’Give Me Money,’” there we are. All the three words they need to know.”

“A little on the nose for a charity worker, but no. I’ll think of something,” she said.


End file.
